Thanks, Cochise
by wickedbad
Summary: "Getting to the top of the mountain was going to be the hardest part, never looking back was going to be the second." Three weeks after the events of the game, Chris returns to the mountain to finish what Flamethrower guy started. [Features (partially) Wendigo!Josh]


**A/N: I just want to say that I wrote (and rewrote) this entire fic only to remember afterward that the Washington lodge burned down at the end of the game, and I didn't include that bit in my story... So, let's just pretend that never happened because I didn't feel like coming up with something else.**

* * *

He had to do it.

There wasn't anything that anyone (not even himself) could say to convince him otherwise. The mountain was dangerous, and the Washingtons were not going to be the last people to occupy it. The Flamethrower guy had tried to do what no one else had been able, and Chris felt as if he owed it to him to finish what he started - what he dedicated his entire life to. It was the morally right thing to do, after all. And, besides, he was tired of being the guy who sat back and watched life from the sidelines. For once, he wanted to be the 'Mike.' Hell, maybe even the 'Josh.'

Josh. He was still up on the mountain, _probably_. The wendigo had taken his body and done God knows what with it. The thought alone sent shivers down Chris' spine. From what he had heard from Mike, Josh's last moments were spent lost within his hallucinations, completely detached from reality. He had been so far gone he hadn't even noticed a _wendigo_ had carried him away. Yet, there was something oddly comforting about knowing, perhaps, Josh never felt the pain. Maybe he went without fear. Maybe the wendigo turned…

The most difficult part was going to be leaving the comfort of his home. His parents had encouraged him to drop out of school for the semester and spend time living under their roof so they could make sure he was handling the situation alright. But, how was he supposed to keep on living when he knew it was his _duty_ to save the mountain? No one else from his group of friends were going to have the balls to go back there, let alone _live_ there like Chris was planning. None of his friends or family realized the importance of his return to the mountain. Hell, he wasn't even sure _he_ realized the extent of what he was doing. But, it was the right thing to do. It was the right thing…

The city bus bumped along the poorly paved road, threatening to tip over if it travelled through a large enough pot hole. The uneven pavement sent vibrations throughout the vehicle that contributed to the shaking in his hands. Fortunately, he was the only passenger in the bus, and he was thankful for this considering how sure he was his nervousness would catch the unwanted attention of others. He clutched onto his large backpack, trying to ease the shakiness in his hands as he felt the outline of his supplies. He had visited a local hunting store outside of town and stocked up on lighter fluid, flashlights, batteries, and whatever else he figured he would need for his stay.

The sign to the mountain was growing closer in the distance. His palms began to sweat as his breathing increased. He was actually doing this, giving up his life for something that could easily kill him. But, better him than many others, right?

"You said you wanted to go to Blackwood Pines, right?" The balding bus driver called out to the back of the bus, eyeing Chris suspiciously through the rearview mirror. Chris nodded and watched as the driver shook his head, "I don't see why anyone would want to go there this soon. I've been following the story on the radio; that mountain has got to bed cursed."

Chris huffed, trying to stifle the inappropriate laughter. The bus driver peered at him, raising an eyebrow. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Yeah, it must be."

The bus jolted to a stop, the exhaust filling the cool air outside. The bus driver reached next to him to pull on a lever that opened the side doors. He kept an eye on Chris from the mirror as he collected his belongings and made his way to the front of the vehicle, shuffling past the rows of empty seats before stopping at the door. Once he stepped out, there was no turning back.

"Be careful, my man; I don't want to be hearing about you on the news, too."

Chris nodded, his throat suddenly overcome with dryness as he climbed down the short set of steps and planted the soles of his boots into the crisp layer of snow. The warmth from the bus filled the atmosphere, but it quickly vanished when the driver turned the vehicle in the opposite direction. He was alone now. There were no friends to climb the mountain with, no Flamethrower guy to guide him - there was no one. Just Chris and the vastness of nature.

It was going to be a long trek to the sanitorium. If the police hadn't cleared out the area, he was certain there would be more supplies for him to use. From the stories he had heard from Mike, there was a potential for chains, torches, and even… wendigos. God, what had he gotten himself into? There was no way he was going to survive as long as Flamethrower guy had. Hell, he had been fighting off wendigos the majority of his life, and he still died at the mercy of one. Chris was just some guy who spent most of his life in front of a phone screen.

He shook his head as he started walking through the thick snow. There was no time for second thoughts; he was just going to have to learn as he went. His dark boots crunched against the white forest ground as he followed the paved path that led to the mountain. The journey had only just begun yet he could barely feel his hands beneath his wool gloves; getting to the top of the mountain was going to be the hardest part, never looking back was going to be the second.

* * *

He was making better time than he had anticipated. The bus drive to the mountain had been faster than he planned for, so he was already halfway in between the cable car station and the lodge by mid-day. At the pace he was going, he would reach the lodge by evening, which was where he was planning to stay for the night. He would take the night to rest and gather his supplies - to make sure he had brought everything that he was going to need. Not that it would matter, anyway, he wasn't going to be able to make another trip down the mountain for quite some time to come.

 _Crunch_. His heart stopped as he stood in the middle of the pathway, completely frozen. With his head still, he darted his eyes around the surrounding area, looking out for anything out of the ordinary. He wrapped his fingers around the shotgun he had slung over his shoulder and waited. A rustle from the bushes brought his pulse back, his blood rushing through his body. It couldn't be a wendigo; no, not this early.

"Oh shit!" He fell to the ground, landing against the stiffness of his backpack. In front of him, an elk dashed across the path, completely oblivious to Chris' presence. He shook his head as the pain began to set in. The flashlights in his backpack had dug into his back, pressing against his skin. He'd managed to land on a jagged rock which sliced through his jeans and left a gash on his lower leg. With a huff, he slid his bag off his shoulders and dug around until he found a spare bandana to wrap around the wound. The quick, repurposed bandage would have to do until he reached the lodge and was able to attend to it properly.

Fortunately, the rest of the travel to the Washington lodge went by quickly and without any other interruption. He had only stopped one other time to catch his breath and give his weakened leg a moment to rest. As he had predicted, he reached the lodge around evening, just in time to get inside before the entire area became a wendigo hunting ground. Before he removed the bandana from his leg, he took the time to board up the windows and doors with random pieces of furniture spread across the large home. With all the doors locked and secured, he felt that the lodge would be safe for him until he could make shelter in the sanitorium.

With a lit candle, he fumbled around the darkened lodge, searching for the expensive medical supply kit he knew that the Washingtons once owned. Sure enough, it was in the bathroom, just as he had remembered. Sitting on the edge of the large bathtub, a shiver travelled down his spine when he remembered Sam had been in there not too long ago, enjoying herself before what had happened that night. He shook the memory from his mind, removing his makeshift bandage and rolled his jeans up to the knee. Beside him, he ran the water in the tub and dipped his leg under the stream, hissing as the heat burned his wound. He let the water run over his leg while he closed his eyes, the soreness from his journey settling in.

What would Josh think if he knew what Chris was doing? He'd probably earn a toothy grin and a slap on the back, followed by a " _Good job, Cochise, you're finally becoming a man."_ He'd definitely be proud of him. The old Josh would have been, at least; he hadn't been so sure about the Josh he'd come to know throughout the past year. His heart sunk at the sudden realization that he'd lost the person that meant the most to him. His best friend. His brother.

It didn't matter that Josh had learned to hate him for what had happened over a year ago. It didn't matter that the rest of his friends refused to say his name or even acknowledge he had ever existed. He forgave Josh. At first, he was angry; that was acceptable. But, there were parts of Josh he had never been able to understand, parts that Josh himself never understood. Chris believed somewhere - somewhere deep beneath the psychological torture that plagued him for the past year - Josh knew what he did was wrong. Chris truly believed he had never meant to hurt any of them.

 _God dammit, Josh,_ He thought to himself, _Why didn't you just let us help you? I would've done anything for you, man._

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. It was a dangerous game to let his mind wander to Josh. If he thought about it for too long, he would feel a swelling in his heart that only stolen booze from his parent's liquor cabinet could make disappear. With a sigh that rattled from deep within his chest, he reached beside him to turn off the faucet, the steam from the water evaporating into the cool air. After digging around in the first aid kit, he came across a fresh bandage that he pressed against the wound. The area looked clean; he had managed to remember what he had learned in his high school survival education course. But, the gash on his leg was the least of his concern.

After he finished in the upstairs restroom, he headed back down to the main floor of the lodge where he had left the rest of his supplies. Thankfully, the hunting supply store had carried the majority of what he assumed he was going to need (and, a quick internet search before his departure had come in handy). He unzipped the multiple pouches of his large bag and laid out his supplies on the long table, counting everything to make sure he knew exactly what he had brought.

Flashlights, pocket knife, compass, canteen, duct tape, lighter, lighter fluid, tarp, flares, machete, extra socks and gloves, bandanas, canned beans, shotgun, ammo, batteries, propane, rope… Yeah, he had brought tons. With all he had packed (along with extras) he was sure he wouldn't have to head down the mountain back to the main town for at least a few months. As his stomach growled and his back ached, he was already beginning to long for the comfort of his own home.

 _Be a man, Cochise_ , he reminded himself, hearing the phrase whispered to him in a familiar voice. With a sigh, he packed all of his belongings into the large backpack and slung it over his shoulder as he padded up the staircase, listening to the sound of his boots creaking against the wooden planks. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since he had last been there, flustered over Ashley and oblivious to the fear that would ensue. As he climbed, a familiar thought in his brain told him to sleep in Josh's room for the night, probably because that was where he was used to sleeping when the Washingtons had invited him to the lodge over school breaks.

He opened the door to the bedroom and felt the cold rush over his body. With a shiver, he stepped into the abandoned room and watched as particles of dust floated around the wide space. The only source of light came from the moon that poured into the room and casted dark shadows over Josh's former furniture. Chris lit a candle and placed it on the writing desk positioned along the side of the wall and then stood at the end of the large bed, taking in the appearance of the room he once knew quite well.

Josh had always been one to keep his space tidy - not a single thing was out of its planned order. Along the dark painted walls, he had plastered an array of movie posters, ranging from horror movies to classics Chris had never seen. He had a large monitor on his desk along with a flat screen TV mounted to the wall across from his bed. Along the wooden shelves, he had lined the space with various movie props and memorabilia. A knot began to form in Chris' stomach, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind as he stripped down into more comfortable clothing. He slid into Josh's bed and pulled the thick blankets to his chin, hoping he would be able to close his eyes and dream about anything other than the world he was living in.

He knew that he as going to be in for a long night. The first of many.

* * *

The sanitorium was further away than he had thought, or perhaps his body was so exhausted it just felt that way. When he arrived, he stood at the front of the building, groaning out loud as he realized all the work he was going to have to put in to make sure he was safe while inside. The windows and doors had been boarded up by Flamethrower guy, but the recent police activity had destroyed most of his efforts. With all of the discarded materials spread around the sanitorium, he was sure he could conjure something to create a safe space.

Inside the chapel, Chris set down his backpack, deciding to call this area of the sanitorium 'home.' The remnants of the Flamethrower guy's belongings were still on the makeshift chairs and tables, but the busted television and empty cigar box were of no use to him. He searched the gated areas alongside the walls of the chapel for anything that might come in handy. There were a few casings of propane and unused torches, along with food supplies and maps of the area.

"Thanks man," Chris mumbled to himself as he pointed his finger upward. When he finished surveying the area, he took a tour of the abandoned facility, eager to familiarize himself with his new home. There was no use for the morgue or the deserted doctor's offices, but the gated cells would be the most important. From what he had learned from Mike, all of the remaining wendigos had either escaped from their cells or died in the fire. The thought of having to hunt them down and bring them _back_ into the sanitorium filled him with dread. The entire thing was beginning to feel like a mistake.

Inside the cells, usable chains had been left behind, scattered across the dirty tiled floors. Luckily for him, they had remained mostly unrusted and would work wonders for him if he ever managed to catch a wendigo in the wild. Throughout his trip to Alberta, he had read the journal Flamethrower guy had left behind; Chris had been fortunate enough to snag it and stash it away before the police went through their belongings and the Washington lodge. Every single page of the journal had been filled with important information that Chris read over multiple times to make sure he understood. Thankfully, the Flamethrower guy had left quite detailed instructions for how to capture and detain a wendigo. They were eerily specific, almost as if he had foreseen his own untimely death.

Chris spent the rest of the daylight cleaning out all the cells and gathering his supplies. That night was going to be his first wandering about the nearby wilderness, searching for the creatures that had all the power to kill him. Every part of his being was nervous, but the adrenaline that pumped through his veins kept his head clear and focused on the tasks he had laid out for himself.

When the night time rolled around he cursed under his breath at the sight of freshly fallen snow. The white flakes fell from the sky, obstructing his view of the forest. Irritated, he laced up his boots and slid into his thick jacket, his backpack slung over his shoulders. He kept his shotgun close to his body, along with the torch that barely emitted any light. His boots crunched against the ground as he entered the woods, the crackling fire dimly lighting his path. The wind had started to pick up, circling around him in white swirls. There was an uneasy silence that filled the forest - it was a bit _too_ quiet.

 _Snap_. He froze. A hideous screech from the distance echoed in his ears as he remained frozen in the middle of the forest. His jaw began to quiver as he only moved with his eyes, looking past the abundance of trees for the nearby wendigo. He dropped the torch into the snow, snuffing the light as he stared. About forty feet away, he saw a shadow lurking, inching closer toward him with each passing second. Finally, the creature emerged from the trees, as hideous and vile as ever, and towered over him, breathing deeply as it searched for any sign of life. Chris' breathing stopped as he tried to ease his shaking body. He searched the depths of his brain for what the journal had said to do in this situation. _Just wait it out. Wait until it's distanced itself, then wave get another torch and run like hell_.

After a few moments of holding his breath and trying to focus all of his energy on not moving, the wendigo snarled and backed away, heading back toward the depths of the forest. When the monster had disappeared into the shadows, Chris felt his arm raising as he retrieved his second torch and ignited the cloth wrapped around it.

"Hey!" He shouted across the forest. The wendigo snapped its head in his direction and screeched. Without much time to think, Chris darted back the way he had came, waving his torch behind him to catch the wendigo's attention. As he ran, he tried to remember the pages of the journal while managing to dodge rocks and branches. One wrong move or an unexpected root could turn him into the wendigo's next victim.

After what felt like hours of running, the outline of the sanitorium appeared from behind the trees. A wave of relief washed over him as he heard the wendigo crashing through the forest behind him, bringing itself closer to the facility. All that was left was making it to the cells and trapping that cursed sucker there for good.

When he reached the cellblock, he aimed the shotgun at the monster, guiding it into the gated compartment with the torch and his weapon. After a few screeches and snarls, the creature herded itself into the cell, and Chris slammed the door shut, his hands trembling as he locked it. He stumbled away from the compartment until his back hit the concrete wall behind him. With his head pressed against the cool slab, he let his back slide down until he was sitting on the ground, the cold seeping through his jeans.

He was living in a daze, completely unfazed by the screeching wendigo a mere five feet away from him. His hands were shaking along with the rest of his body; his heart crashed against the inside of his chest as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. When he looked at the trapped monster in front of him, he couldn't help but grin.

"Shit," He mumbled as he kept his gaze on the wendigo. The reality that he had actually stumbled across a _literal_ wendigo in the middle of the forest and was able to bring it back to the sanitorium had yet to set in. He'd actually done it - alone, without any help from anyone else. Of course, he had the guidance of the Flamethrower guy, but this was all him. Just Chris.

As his heart rate began to slow down, he groaned as he raised his body from the tiled floor, taking a moment to wipe the brown leaves and snow from his clothing. The wendigo wailed at his movement, and Chris waved his hand in its direction, "Fuck off, man; I really don't wanna be hearing this all night. I think I've earned myself a good night's sleep, okay?"

And, for the first night in ages, he slept soundly.

* * *

The following two nights had been quite uneventful. Chris had spent the time wandering the outer edges of the forest, keeping the sanitorium in close range (just in case). The wendigos had been staying hidden which was, undoubtedly, a smart decision by them. It amazed Chris that the Flamethrower guy had been able to dedicate his entire life to such a terribly boring cause. Not even a week had passed since Chris arrived at the mountain, yet he was already experiencing severe withdrawals from his lack of technology.

At least, he told himself, capturing the wendigos wasn't an impossible task, and he had already managed to survive longer than he thought he would. Wherever the Flamethrower guy had ended up in the afterlife, Chris hoped that he was proud. The mountain deserved better than this, after all. Besides, -

Chris stopped; a foul noise in the distance had captured his attention. The sound was a bit _too_ grotesque for a regular, harmless woodland creature to make. Somewhere to his left, chewing noises and spitting sounds emitted from… _something_. His heartbeat began to quicken; it was too early for wendigos. He had only ventured into the woods to retrieve extra firewood to keep at the chapel, and he hadn't even brought all of his supplies (a rookie mistake on his part that he would not repeat). Thankfully, the shotgun was secured across the front of his chest, and he had managed to slip a small torch into his coat pocket, ready to be ignited if need be.

With his curiosity getting the best of him, Chris slowly ventured closer to the noise, careful not to step on any twigs in fear of drawing attention to himself. A few trees away, he could make out the outline of _something_ hovering over what appeared to be a dead elk. The creature was bent over, ripping off parts of the deceased animal's carcass and shoving the bloody pieces into its mouth in a gluttonous rage. From behind, the hunched creature looked as if it were a wendigo, but the remaining patches of hair and more human-like complexion confused him. Maybe one of the park rangers had been attacked… Or, maybe a police officer from the recent investigation had been an unlucky victim of the mountain's wendigos.

With his mind somewhere else, Chris stepped on a branch, hissing to himself as he listened to the snapping noise it made. The voracious creature paused, its back tensing before it jerked its sunken head in Chris' direction. With dark eyes, it stared at him, to which Chris gawked back, unable to look away from the scene. A horribly familiar sensation washed over him. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Oh no," He muttered as he frantically shook his head. The half-wendigo raised its lanky body, disregarding its lunch, and staggered toward him; the monster wasn't as quick as the others due to its apparent leg injury that had not yet been healed by the supernatural. Chris toppled backwards as he fumbled for the square lighter he knew was in his front pocket. There was nothing in the Flamethrower guy's journal that could have prepared him for this.

After rolling his thumb over the sparkwheel of the lighter a few times, he brought the flame to the torch, watching as it rippled with vibrant fire. The half-wendigo in front of him followed the bright movement with its eyes, momentarily distracted by the flame. The creature tilted its balding head to the side, exposing the gash on its cheek that showed its sharpened teeth.

"J-Josh…" Chris mumbled, just barely a whisper, as he stared down the familiar creature before him. "God dammit, Josh. Can you hear me?"

With an emotionless expression that proved he didn't recognize him, Josh continued to limp toward Chris, his head bobbing as he walked. Chris backed away until he bumped into to the nearest tree, causing a pile of snow to fall from a branch and onto his shoulder. The only thing that he could do was herd him back to the sanitorium just as if he were any other wendigo. Turning back to his friend, Chris headed toward the clinic, listening to Josh grunt from behind. He couldn't face him, not yet. God, why had this happened?

An eternity had passed before Chris reached the sanitorium. The sun was beginning to crawl behind the horizon, which was mostly hidden due to the vast array of trees, anyway. It didn't matter what time it was; all of his thoughts were focused on Josh's groans and making sure he remembered the path. At least, he thought to himself, it was relatively simple to get Josh to follow him; he was far enough gone that the bright fire retained all of his attention.

When he reached the cell block, he widened the next cell door, hurrying inside to clear the area for Josh. I the next compartment over, the other wendigo began to screech at the sudden movement, thrusting itself against the rusting bars. The sharp cry made Josh hiss and grab onto his ears, throwing his body against the concrete wall while he wailed in pain.

"Shit!" Chris exclaimed as the sudden shriek made him jump. He turned back to look at his friend, who had pressed himself against the wall, holding the sides of his head with his eyes closed. With a deep sigh, Chris waved the torch around until Josh noticed; he took his palms away from his ears and stared into the flame, mesmerized by its crackling nature. When he remained put at the end of the dark corridor, Chris hesitantly stepped toward him, trying to guide him into the cell. Josh hissed in return and backed away, exposing his sharp teeth for Chris to see.

"Josh," He groaned, waving his arm in defeat, "Get in the cell, man. Trust me, I don't wanna do this to you, but…"

As if Josh understood him, he fumbled into the open compartment, his eyes still focused on the torch as he pressed his body against the corroded bars. The first wendigo screeched again, which prompted Josh to wail in return. From beneath the shrieking, Chris thought he heard a strand of incoherent words come from Josh.

"What did you say?" He stepped close to the cell, standing as close to him as the series of rods would allow. Chris tilted his head, examining his friend. A part of him was still there - trapped inside the body of a half-wendigo - but not much of him survived. His hair had thinned and turned lighter; most of it had fallen out, anyway. His skin had sunken and his fingernails had grown into a claw-like shape. The clothes that he had been wearing the night of his "game" were torn and hung from his body as if they had never been meant for him to begin with. But, Chris could recognize the dirty remnants of the dark overalls, which caused a knot to form in his throat.

In response, Josh growled and stumbled around the empty cell until he tripped over some invisible force and fell to the ground, a deep cry coming from his mutated body. Chris scrunched his face and covered his ears when the other wendigo screamed in return, both their cries mimicking the other. With his supplies in hand, he exited the cell block, closing and locking the large steel door behind him as he headed back to the chapel.

When he reached the small, gated area he was using as a bedroom, he waded through an array of loose supplies until he found the Flamethrower guy's journal at the bottom of the mix. As he flipped through the pages, he tried to remember where he had read a passage that he usually skipped over. There had been some minimal information the Flamethrower guy had left behind about rehabilitation. Chris never thought this would become valuable (why would he ever go through the trouble to save one of these monsters), but here he was, his heart racing as he scanned each page.

Towards the end of the journal, an underlined paragraph barely provided anything useful other than a name and a location to a local medicine man who lived somewhere in the mountains.

 _April 19th, 2009_

 _I stumbled across a medicine man while hunting last night. It was late, so he was kind enough to invite me back to his shelter. It wasn't much of a place, but he had tons of supplies. He offered me a warm meal and we shared stories of the wendigo. He told me that he knew of a way to rid the soul of a wendigo and revive the person, but he had only achieved it once. It takes patience, much patience, he had said. With the few wendigos that I have contained, I might give it a try. If I ever succeed, I'll document the method in the journal._

At the bottom of the page, a circled portion caught Chris' attention.

 _Directions to Achak - Go northwest past the sanitorium for about two hours. Follow a straight path. A giant boulder with moss along the right side will mark the halfway point. Once you arrive, you will know. And, so will he._

There was a chance that Josh could be saved. Chris would do whatever it took to bring him back - to have his best friend with him once again. Hell, Chris would've traded places with him if that's what it took. He would do anything for Josh, no matter what had happened three weeks before. That was history; none of it mattered. The only thing Chris was concerned with was freeing the person he cared about the most from the cursed hell he was living in.

He would make it his mission. If there was one thing in this universe he was any good at, it was being there for Josh when he needed it the most. And, he wasn't planning on giving up now.

* * *

He had passed the giant boulder with moss along the right side quite some time ago. Based on the Flamethrower guy's vague directions, Chris assumed he had to be getting close to the medicine man's location. The journal had explained he would _know_ when he arrived, but it wasn't as if Chris was familiar with medicine men or anything of spiritual nature. Hell, how was he going to know if the man was still alive? The journal entry had been written six years before and Achak hadn't been mentioned any time after that. Besides, the flamethrower guy had never updated the paragraph with the method for removing the wendigo spirit; the trip might have been a complete waste.

In the distance, hidden behind the thick line of trees, a small fire rising through the chimney of a hut caught his attention. His heart beat harshly against the inside of his ribcage, and Chris stepped closer, reaching the outside of the humble shelter. There were various relics and heirlooms that decorated the outside of the hut, lining the archway of the front entrance. After swallowing hard, Chris extended his arm to knock on the door, but before he could, it swung open, revealing a tall aging man behind it.

The man smiled, showing that he was missing a few teeth as he widened the door. He nodded his head, pleased with what he was seeing. "I have been waiting for you."

Chris furrowed his brow, taken aback by the man's comment. He lifted his hand and rubbed his palm against the nape of his neck as he raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry?"

The man broadened the doorway, and Chris hesitantly shuffled inside. The warmth from the crackling fire vanished the cold that had latched onto his body. The man gestured for him to remove his coat, to which he did, handing it to the man who placed it delicately on a hook by the door. With another nod of the head, he walked past Chris and leaned over a gray pot, pouring its contents into a matching cup which he handed to Chris.

"Well, I haven't been expecting _you_ , but I knew the day would come. No one has visited me for six years, but that is just how I want it to be," He smiled and lifted the brim of his cup to his lips, taking a sip. Chris did the same, allowing the warm liquid to travel down his throat and heat his body. "You look like him, the man who hunted the wendigos. You are morphing into him with the way you are dressed."

Chris nodded, unsure of how to respond. He took another sip of his drink and set it down on a rock beside him, "Sir, I - I need your help. Please."

"I will try my best, my friend," He smiled slightly, looking into Chris' light eyes.

Chris shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to begin. There had been plenty of conversations he had acted out in his mind, such as what he would say to Ashley if he ever worked up the nerve to ask her out. Or, what he would say to the police when they asked him about Josh's "game." But, never once had he imagined he would be asking a medicine man in the middle of a forest how to save the spirit of his wendigo-turned best friend.

He shook his head, "My friend… H-He was… He's becoming a wendigo. I don't know how far gone he is, but he's close. I have this journal," He lifted the Flamethrower guy's book and handed it to Achak, "The guy who hunted wendigos, he wrote in there that you knew of a way to maybe save people from the wendigo spirit… I know it might not work, but please; I'm begging."

Achak's eyes turned soft as he looked down at the torn journal in his hands. He sighed and brought his glance back to Chris, "Young man, I have only managed it once and the young man died within an hour. It is not easy, and it could hurt your friend. I'm not sure that I would recommend it."

"Please," Chris begged, his eyes tearing up, threatening to spill over at any moment. His throat grew tight, "He's my best friend… I don't know what to do without him. I can't stand to see him like this. He's already in pain and… if there's _anything_ I can do, I want to. I can't watch him hurt like _this_ any longer."

Achak pursed his lips and nodded his head. He lifted himself from the ground and headed to the back of the humble shelter, ruffling through a few pieces of paper before he returned. He extended his arm to Chris, offering him a small journal. "What you need to know is in here. I wish you good luck."

A wrinkle formed in his forehead, "You aren't coming?"

"Oh no, my friend," He chuckled lightly and groaned as he lowered himself back to the ground, "My legs cannot make the journey; I am not the young man I wish that I was."

Chris nodded, tucking the journal into his pants pocket, "Is there anything I can do for you in return? I feel bad leaving without offering anything."

Achak shook his head, "No, there is nothing that I need… You are trying to save a malevolent spirit, and for that you should only be rewarded. The only thing that I ask," He paused for a moment to look up at Chris, "If you succeed - which I sincerely hope you do - travel back here and let me know. I do not want to die before knowing that there is hope for these once loving people."

Leaving with that promise, Chris turned and headed for the door. With his hand hovering above the handle, he looked back over his shoulder at the medicine man, "Thank you."

"No, thank you," He smiled, a strange twinkle in his dark eyes, "Do what your predecessor tried so hard to do. Make us who have dedicated our lives to this proud."

Somehow - and he could never explain it - he knew that he would.

* * *

The remedy would not come easy. Chris would have to spend the remainder of the day searching for the materials needed to perform the cure. With his hunting knife sheathed to his belt, he headed out into the forest, looking for an elk to drain of its blood. The concoction required fairly simple ingredients: elk blood, a handful of moss, recently charred dark bark (2 strips), and water from the nearest flowing river. The part that would prove to be the most challenging, however, would be tying Josh's restless body down and cutting into his flesh, pouring the mixture into his veins. Chris would have to do this every day until Josh began to transition back, and after that, it was a waiting game.

He had gathered everything he needed quite quickly. It had been brutal for Chris to hunt down the elk and collect its blood, but the thought of Josh returning back to his normal state kept him driven. He was willing to do anything for his best friend, after all. Once he returned to the sanitorium that evening, he hovered outside the cell block, listening to the sounds of the two creatures hissing at each other. He unlocked the heavy door, which warranted an echo of wails from inside.

Standing in front of Josh's cell, Chris dug through his backpack until he pulled out a long chain. Lifting his torch, he used the bright flame to keep Josh's attention while he wrapped the metal around his body and opened the cell door in a swift motion. Josh snarled and spat as Chris tried to pull his body toward another contraption on the floor. Huffing, he managed to connect the chains that kept Josh pinned to the dirty, tiled ground. Using another chain with a brace on the end, he locked it around his friend's neck, preventing him from biting him with his newly sharpened teeth. Josh struggled against the manacles, thrusting his body harshly against the metal.

"Dude, I'm really sorry about this," Chris retrieved his knife from his belt, cringing as he pointed it at Josh's skin, "Please don't have me when this is all over."

He pressed the blade against Josh's arm, carefully slitting the skin open until deep red blood gushed out of it, spilling onto the floor below. With his face scrunched and reflexes threatening to make him gag, he poured the recently mixed concoction into the fresh wound, watching as Josh's body became overwhelmed with agonizing pain. He screeched and pressed against the chains, his body shaking intensely as he wailed. Josh screamed in pain as the veins in his neck bulged, the exposed skin turning a deep shade of red. His eyes widened as he threw his head back, his screams echoing throughout the small compartment.

"God Josh," Chris looked away from the scene before him, feeling his chest tighten. His voice shook as he peered back out of the corner of his eye, "I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry, Josh."

He raised his body from the ground, a strong feeling of guilt forming in the pit of his stomach. What he was doing was the right thing, though. If it worked, Josh would thank him. The pain would be over soon. It would all be over soon.

* * *

Two days had passed since Chris had first given Josh the remedy. Since then, he had yet to see any change in Josh's behavior or physical appearance. He knew that the process was going to be a long one, but he was already beginning to feel hopeless. It hurt him more than anyone would ever know to see the pain that Josh was experiencing each time he cut open his skin to pour in the mixture. _He_ had caused the pain. _He_ was hurting Josh.

With his daily fresh concoction tight in his grip, he unlocked the door to the cell block, preparing himself for the loud screams that would come from the two creatures inside. To his surprise, the wailing only came from the first wendigo; not a single sound from Josh's cell. With a wave of panic flashing over him, Chris hurried to the cell, wrapping his free hand around the rusted bar as he stared into the compartment. Along the side of the concrete wall, Josh was sitting with his back pressed against it, his knees pulled up to his chest. His head was lowered into his hands, and he rocked himself back and forth, trying to soothe himself.

"Josh…" Chris' voice cracked as he unlocked the cell, hurrying in as fast as he could as he lowered himself next to his hurting friend. Hesitantly, he reached out to place a shaking hand on Josh's shoulder, which caused him to flinch and snap his head in Chris' direction.

Something about him had changed overnight. Physically, he mostly appeared the same; his skin was still an almost translucent pale and the gash on his cheek was as deep as before, but the life in his eyes had returned. With a wide eyed expression, Josh tilted his head and squinted his eyes, darting them back and forth frantically as he looked at Chris beside him. After the moment of curiosity had passed, he jerked his body away, trying to distance himself, but couldn't due to his metal restraints.

"... get away… away… leave…" He muttered as he closed his eyes while shaking his head. His breathing increased as he tried to tug on the chains which had begun to cut into his skin.

Chris reached out with his hand, but pulled back. His best friend didn't remember him. He could feel his heart sink into his stomach and the world around him turned into a dizzy whirl. His best friend didn't remember him, and he still had to hurt him. The sorrow he felt for Josh deepened; he was going to have to be _tortured_ by someone who was practically a stranger.

Without anything to say, Chris did what had to be done. He reached for Josh's arm, steadying the knife over the spot he had already cut into three times before. Whispering a gentle string of apologies, he pressed the blade against his skin, hissing as the blood oozed out of the opening.

" _OH_ ," Josh exclaimed as he banged his head against the wall, causing specks of dust to fall from the ceiling above and land in his thin hair. "Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Oh, hurts so bad… hurts so bad… Please, p-please kill me. Oh, God, please kill me."

Chris felt his heart twist as he turned his eyes away. He shook his head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill at any moment. "I'm not going to kill you, Josh."

"FUCK," He yelled as he tossed his head back against the wall, banging it a few more times. "I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE IT. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME," He twisted his pale fingers in his hair and pulled at the thin strands, collecting a few in his hands as he crashed his head again.

"JOSH STOP," Chris shouted back, pulling his torch out of his pocket and igniting it quickly, waving it around in front of his face. "I don't want to do this to you, but fucking stop. You're going to get better, Josh."

Josh snarled, struggling against the chains, "I WANT TO DIE. KILL ME… Please please please please please please kill me. Oh, kill me please. I can't take it… Oh, man, I can't take it. No. No the pain is too much. I have to die. THIS IS FUCKING TORTURE."

 _You would know a thing or two about that, wouldn't you?_ Chris thought to himself, but quickly shook his head, dismissing it. Josh was sick - well, now he was more than sick. He was dying. In fact, a good part of him was already dead.

* * *

" _KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!_ " Josh would bang his head against the wall repeatedly, rolling his eyes back into his skull as he did. This had been an everyday occurrence for the past two weeks. Every day had been the same, Chris would make the remedy, go to the cell block, listen to Josh beg to be killed, cut his wound open, pour the mixture in, and listen to Josh scream and wither about in pain.

But, each day was an improvement - in some twisted sense. Josh's hair had begun to grow back and his skin was returning to its regular shade day by day. His words were becoming more coherent, but the screams had yet to subside. Josh still begged to be killed, to be taken away from all his pain, to be put of his misery. It was all he ever said, nothing else. Chris wasn't even sure if he remembered who either of them were.

Before he would fall asleep each night, his mind heavy from listening to Josh's howling, he wondered if what he was doing was the right thing. Maybe it would have been for the best to just put Josh out of his misery. He truly was in so much pain, and the fact of the matter was he was probably never going to be the same person, anyway.

Chris had been selfish for keeping him alive. He was lying to himself when he said he was doing it for Josh or to see if the cure actually worked; he wanted Josh alive for himself. He wanted to see his smile, listen to him talk about his favorite movies, drive around in Chris' beat up truck while they listened to their favorite music; he wanted the good days back.

The truth was, the good days had stopped long before Josh's "game." The night twins disappeared had been the ultimate breaking point, but Josh had been off before then, too. The years after he graduated high school had been difficult ones; he wasn't sure what he wanted to do with his life (he was ridden with self-doubt. 'I can't make movies, Chris,' he would say, 'I'm just not as good as my dad.'). Chris knew that there had been some issues with his medication that Josh only let him know about through his subtle cries for help. Sure, Josh had his happy moments, but Chris wasn't sure when the last time was he ever felt genuinely happy.

Maybe Josh really did want to die. He could've been helping him more by just… letting him go peacefully. Chris would have given him a proper burial and honored his name; he would have thought about him every day until they met again. But, it was too late now; they were _so close_. He could feel it. He may have created a monster out of his best friend for the time being, but it was better than being dead, right? Josh was doomed to a life plagued with terror, but he was alive, and there would always be a chance for him. There was always hope for Josh.

Always.

Chris had poured the elk blood into a small bowl and mixed in the charred bark and fresh water, creating a rather foul smelling mixture. With a sigh, he fumbled around for the cell block key and headed in the direction with his hunting knife and torch. When he reached the door, he hesitated. Listening to Josh's cries of pain took so much out of him. It kept him awake throughout the night and taunted him during the day. Since he had found Josh, he had only managed to go wendigo hunting twice. All he could bring himself to do was sit in the chapel and think about what he had done to his best friend.

When he opened the door, the first wendigo wailed, just as normal. Ignoring the creature, he walked toward Josh's cell and noticed him in his regular position propped against the side wall. With a deep sigh, he slid into the compartment, placing the remedy on the ground as he stood before his friend.

Josh's skin was still pale and the bags under his eyes were as purple as ever, but the gash on the side of his cheek had drastically healed over night. Chris nodded to himself, proud of what he had managed to accomplish. He lowered himself to the ground and sat next to Josh, grabbing his wrist in his hand. He felt his pulse for a moment; it had been growing stronger by the day.

As he reached for the knife he braced himself for the screams, "I'm sorry, Josh. You're gonna get better though, you are."

He held the blade to Josh's skin, cringing as he did so. It didn't matter how many times he had done it, he would never get used to cutting into human flesh. Before he could make contact with the skin, a low rumble from Josh stopped him. Josh lifted his head, locking his eyes to Chris'. With a soft grin that curled his lips, he tilted his head to the side. As clear as ever, he spoke:

"Thanks, Cochise."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! And, thanks to TheCarnivalAct for the idea behind this story. If you're interested in some minor climbing class fics, she has two really great ones ~ check them out!**


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